


Make Ready to Speak

by dactyliin (Volant)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Epic of Gilgamesh references, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gawain and the Green Knight references, M/M, jim and spock are sappy lit lovers, shameless excuse for me to quote ancient and medieval poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volant/pseuds/dactyliin
Summary: As a child, before he had completely comprehended the discipline of Surak’s teachings, Spock read stories.





	Make Ready to Speak

As a child, before he had completely comprehended the discipline of Surak’s teachings, Spock read stories. While he found his mother’s contemporary Terran fiction intriguing, Spock had vastly preferred ancient literature. Homer,  Sîn-lēqi-unninni, and Guo Maoquian captured and held his attention for many months, as did fragments of pre-Surakian Vulcan writing. Not all, but many, of the tales spoke of friendship- a true and undying loyalty that at times transcended even death and, perhaps, comforted a very small, very lonely human corner of Spock’s self. 

Spock grew, and as he grew he recognized the stories for what they were- valuable remnants of civilizations long past. Civilizations that, so like the Vulcan people nearly had, consumed themselves with lust, greed, and anger. Spock chose to read scientific journals in place of poetry, chose to meditate rather than dream, and was at peace for a time.

Then, there was Kirk. 

Spock does not see it at first. Perhaps he chooses not to. It is easy to play the part of the stoic Vulcan that the crew of the  _ Enterprise _ expects, and it is easier still to remain apart from the easy camaraderie they share during the first portion of the ship’s mission. Still, Spock finds himself inexplicably drawn to his Captain. Without making any conscious decision to do so, Spock soon discovers that he has fallen into the habit of eating in the mess with Jim. On evenings when neither is on the bridge, they spar together, or Jim insists on playing chess in his quarters. There is scarcely an away mission that they do not accompany each other on. Spock is not oblivious- he is aware of the looks that they share, of the captain’s touch, of the lengths to which he would go to protect Jim. Spock knows himself, and yet he allows fear to stay his hand. There is potentiality and then there is the risk of creating a new reality from that- one that could end well, and one that...would not.

One morning, Spock steps onto the bridge after a particularly trying incident involving a remarkably advanced, remarkably frustrating telepathic species and a death-match between Jim and a Gorn. Upon Jim’s victorious return to the ship, Dr. McCoy had whisked the captain off to sickbay. Spock behaves logically and remains on the bridge, though he aches to assure himself of Jim’s wellbeing. Spock had completed the remainder of his shift, guided the  _ Enterprise _ away from Cestus III, and rested for several hours before returning to the bridge. 

Jim is there, of course- despite Dr. McCoy’s assurances that the “damn fool of a boy’d be so pumped full of tranquilizers that not even a Klingon attack could wake him.” He is not wearing his captain’s uniform, and is instead wearing a soft green tunic over his regulation blacks. Upon further observation, it appears that Lieutenant Sulu has the conn, and that Jim had performed a premature escape from sickbay in order to discuss the incident and the crew’s various readings and interpretations thereof, despite not being cleared for active duty. This is a fact that acting captain Sulu seems intent on ignoring.

Spock watches Kirk lean his weight carefully against Lieutenant Uhura’s console. In the harsh light of the bridge, he can see the dark circles beneath the captain’s eyes, the bruises that shadow his throat, the damp curl of hair over the nape of the captain’s neck. Still, the captain smiles. His gaze strays once, twice, too often to the stellar scape of the vidscreen, and Spock can sense Jim’s desire to be the one in the captain’s chair, to guide his ship once again, even after so brief an absence. 

Spock is reminded, vividly, of the king Gilgamesh- “In the enclosure of Uruk he strode back and forth, Lording it like a wild bull, his head thrust high. The onslaught of his weapons had no equal. His teammates stood forth by his game stick.”

T’hy’la, Spock thinks.

He realizes too late that he is staring; Jim must feel it. Between one moment and the next, the captain turns his head and Spock is met with the full, brilliant force of his gaze. Jim’s smile falters, replaced for a moment by a flash of something like confusion and then sudden understanding. 

Jim straightens. He pushes off of the console and clasps his hands behind his back. He approaches.

“Mr. Spock,” Jim says when they are standing shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the bridge.

“Captain,” Spock says, and Jim crowds closer. The captain has not washed; Spock can smell salt and sulfur on his skin. 

“My doctor’s prescribed a twenty-four hour rest period for me,” Jim says, and does not blink. His voice is low, and unlike the tone with which the captain usually addresses his crew. “

“Then you should rest,” Spock says. He finds his gaze drawn to the expanse of skin revealed by the deep V of the captain’s tunic. Fascinating.

“That’s just what I was thinking, Mr. Spock,” Jim says. He extends one hand and places it on Spock’s elbow. “I thought perhaps- since we’ve both had a trying day- that we might rest together.”

Spock cannot help himself. He raises one eyebrow.

“Captain?” he says, and is rewarded with one of Jim’s brightest and most fleeting smiles.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Jim says. 

“Captain,” Spock says. “Vulcans do not ‘play coy.’” 

Jim laughs at that. His hand tightens around Spock’s elbow, and Spock allows himself to be led back into the turbolift. Spock allows Jim to slide their palms together, to lean against him so that they stand thigh to thigh, chest to chest, cheek to cheek.

Later, they lay beside each other on the cramped mattress in Jim’s quarters. Spock presses his lips to the the pads of Jim’s fingers, tasting each of them in turn. 

“By God,” Jim says. He watches Spock with warmth in his eyes. “I’m glad the favor I’ve called for will fall from your fist.”

Spock lifts his mouth away. 

“Jim,” he says. “You have unfortunate taste in poetry.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure this isn't what my Continental European Lit prof meant when he told us to apply our readings in our daily lives.
> 
> EDIT: Links to poetry below. My computer won't let me make them clickable, but copy & paste should work fine.
> 
> Epic of Gilgamesh tr. by Benjamin Foster:  
> https://tufswesternliterature.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/gilgamesh_handout.pdf
> 
> Sir Gawain and the Green Knight tr. by James Winny (I used the Simon Armitage translation but couldn't find a decent link)  
> http://online.hillsdale.edu/file/great-books-101/week-11/Week-11---Jackson-GB-101-2014-Readings.pdf
> 
> And I mentioned Guo Maoquian, who I think is credited with compiling an anthology of Chinese poetry that included the Ballad of Hua Mulan, so here's a bonus link:  
> http://afe.easia.columbia.edu/ps/china/mulan.pdf


End file.
